


That One-Time Thing

by Elsajeni



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Casual Sex, F/M, Friends With Benefits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 00:31:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16733595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsajeni/pseuds/Elsajeni
Summary: It's a one-time thing.Of course, it's a one-time thing that's happened three times now.That's beside the point, Wedge tells himself firmly, and shuts the conference room door behind them.





	That One-Time Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yunmin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yunmin/gifts).



It's a one-time thing. They agree on that in the morning, talking over each other in their haste to assure each other that this was, you know, _nice_ , no one has any actual _regrets_ , but of course we both understand it was mostly grief and exhaustion and the loneliness of being among the last left standing and it won't be happening again.

It's a strange night to start with -- the gathering on the temple landing pad is half victory party, half wake, most people drifting back and forth from one to the other depending on the drift of conversation or the flow of the liquor. By now it's late, Corellian brandy has been flowing freely, and the mood of the crowd is swinging back toward celebration. Wedge finds himself alone in the crowd, and drifting toward the outskirts of it -- he's drunk his toasts to fallen friends, he'll drink more tomorrow, but just now he can't take it, every toast a reminder of the sheer dumb luck that's the only reason he's not a cloud of vapor in high orbit right now, of the friends who trusted in that same luck and were betrayed.

He's almost off the landing pad, back to the escape hatch of the blast doors into the temple, when there's a whoop in his ear and an arm lands around his shoulders, and he turns to see Skywalker's beaming face an inch from his, Solo and Princess Leia just behind him.

"Come have a drink," Skywalker urges.

Wedge gives him what he's sure is an unconvincing grin and shrugs his arm off. "Later, maybe."

"No, come on!" Skywalker tugs at his arm; behind him, Leia gives Wedge a sympathetic look. "I want to toast--"

There's a shout from the crowd, and a wave, and Wedge seizes the opportunity. "I think she's looking for you," he tells Skywalker, pointing back into the crowd.

"Huh? Oh -- Evaan! That's great, I should be toasting to her too--" He beckons the rest of them to follow and turns back toward the party, Solo and Leia following, Wedge towed along in their wake.

"You go ahead," he hears Leia say, as they reach the outer edge of the crowd again. "I won't impose on Verlaine -- I think I make her nervous."

It sounds polite, nothing more, and Skywalker seems to take it at face value, giving her a grin and a nod and then taking off across the room. Wedge hesitates, though -- there's something in her voice that gives him pause, something he thinks he recognizes.

He hangs back a few steps, lets Skywalker and Solo get out ahead of him. When he thinks they're out of earshot -- not far, in a noisy crowd like this -- he turns back to Leia. "How are you doing?"

She looks at him for a long moment, evaluative, and then opens her mouth to answer -- he's expecting something on the spectrum from _fine_ to _none of your business_. Before she can say anything, though, a cheer goes up from the crowd behind him, the roar of approval for what must have been a particularly good toast; Wedge winces, and at the same moment sees Leia flinch.

Well. That answers that, whether she's willing to say it aloud or not. He takes a half-step closer and offers, "I can't stand it."

"The party?"

"The noise, the toasts…" He shrugs. "You don't seem like you're enjoying it either."

"I don't want to ruin--" She gestures vaguely, a wave of her hand that encompasses Skywalker, Solo, the party, the whole terrace. "We _should_ celebrate. We've won a tremendous victory, and it's cost us so much -- if we don't acknowledge that victory, the scope of it, then what was all that sacrifice for?"

Wedge considers it. There's something to the idea, maybe -- he went up knowing it might be the last thing he did; if stopping the Death Star in its tracks had cost his life along with the rest, would he have wanted them to mourn? On the other hand-- "You can't tell yourself how to feel about it," he points out. "You feel what you feel. It's no dishonor to grieve for the people we've lost."

Leia shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath; when she opens them again they're bright with moisture, but her voice is steady. "But not at the expense of everyone's celebration."

"Do you have to stay?" He glances over his shoulder, finds Skywalker in the center of the crowd, bright and beaming as he holds court. "They won't miss you for a while. I was on my way out when you three caught up to me -- can I walk you somewhere else?"

That gets him another long, evaluative look, and he starts to worry that he may have overstepped. But after a moment she says, "I'd like that," and turns to leave so quickly that he has to trot to catch up.

They go back inside the temple, up a level, down a maze of hallways, and eventually stop at an intersection that Wedge guesses must lead to her quarters. She turns to face him, but doesn't say anything; he hesitates a minute, feeling a little tongue-tied himself, and finally opens his mouth to say _well, goodnight_ when suddenly she leans in and kisses him.

They end up in his bunk instead of hers -- it's closer, and they won't be disturbed there, at least not until the party breaks up. Wedge finds himself suddenly desperate to hold her, desperate to _be_ held, and he can feel the same need in the way Leia touches him, the way she pushes him down into the bed--

It's an awkward few moments the next morning, both of them trying to talk around _so, what now?_ without actually saying it. It's Leia who cracks first and says, "Look, that was _nice_ , but--" and Wedge laughs and says, "Oh, thank fuck, I was worried I'd led you on," and once they know they're on the same page it's easier to sort it out.

Wedge waits in the bunkroom for what he feels is a diplomatic length of time after Leia leaves. He's used to the crowded pilots' barracks, and to pilots' sense of propriety; he's seen plenty of one-night stands end in a round of raucous applause in the mess hall the next morning -- he has to force himself to remember that the corridors will be empty, that there's next to no chance anyone would see them leave together, but all the same he figures it's best not to risk it.

When he does step out into the corridor, it's empty, quiet; he tries to focus on the satisfaction of knowing they weren't observed, and hustles for the mess hall before the wave of grief catches up to him.

* * *

They're going to die in the morning. They're going to leave the safehouse, use the market crowds for cover, slip out of the city to where their fighters are concealed in the forest, try to punch out past a full-strength Imperial blockade to join back up with the squadron, and get killed.

"Given that we're about to die," Wedge starts, over their uninspiring dinner of chemically-heated ration packs, and Leia kicks him in the shin under the table.

"Don't jinx us," she admonishes him.

"You don't believe in jinxes."

"Fine. Don't have so little faith in my tactical planning, then."

"We're under Imperial blockade," he points out. "They moved in three days after we landed. We had no idea they were coming. There's no way your tactical plan accounted for that."

Leia narrows her eyes and levels her fork at him. "Insubordinate. I ought to have you charged."

"Well, as long as you're bringing me up on charges, I might as well finish. Given that we're about to die--" he pauses, and smiles when she doesn't interrupt-- "what do you say to spending the night with a doomed soldier?"

Leia grins. "I say I'm glad you asked," she says, finishing off her charbote root. "Because otherwise I would have, and as your commanding officer I'd be violating all _kinds_ of regulations."

Even as close as they've grown, he never really expected he'd be allowed to do this again -- her smile, her hand in his pulling him toward her bed, feels like an honor, like a medal settling weighty and bright and warm against his chest. He treats it like one at first, too, quiet and reverent as he slips a hand between her legs, until she gasps and shudders against him and says into his ear, laughing, "Wedge, it's supposed to be _fun_."

He laughs, too, and she turns that smile on him again -- the private smile holocams never seem to capture -- and puts her hand on his, kisses him as she guides it inside her.

They fall asleep, afterward, still in the same bed -- Wedge is awake longer, thinks briefly about moving back to his own bed in the other room, but Leia is warm and drowsy beside him and it's a comfort to have her there, to not be alone. Then she rolls over toward him, half-awake, slings an arm over his hip and snuggles herself close against his chest and a moment later is sound asleep again, and after that there's no power in the galaxy that could convince him to move.

They don't die. Whether it's skillful flying, perfect timing, just good luck -- they make it to the rendezvous point with some new scoring on their paintwork but in one piece, and back at the base, they climb down from their fighters laughing and meet in a hug on the hangar floor.

Just a hug. It's a one-time thing, a last-night-of-our-lives let's-not-die-alone thing that won't happen again. They both knew that going in, without a word's discussion, and they know it now; no reason to muck things up just because it wasn't the last night of their lives after all.

* * *

It's boredom, mostly, the brain-itching boredom of spending weeks on edge waiting for an attack that never comes. Everyone in the pilot's barracks has coupled off in various combinations, some of them rotating through half their squadrons in turn, burning off tension in the best of military traditions; Wedge has gotten used to keeping half an eye on his squad, making sure everyone's steady and functional and sometimes giving two of them a gentle nudge in each other's direction, when they seem like they need it. It's that habit that makes him take note of Leia's nervous energy as she paces around the hangar, tapping on a datapad and walking circles without looking up, and say without thinking, "You know, I could help you with that."

"With what?" she asks absently, still focused on her datapad, and Wedge suddenly becomes aware of where he is (in a very public hangar) and what he's just said (oh no) and to _whom_ (oh _no_ ).

On the other hand, it's still Leia, whatever her rank. He plunges onward, though this time he's a little more careful to keep his voice low. "You need to relax."

She gives him a sharp look and gestures with the datapad. "I _need_ to--"

"Finish your datawork, sure. What is it?"

"Work assignments. Patrol rotation, maintenance rotation, flight drill rotation…" She brings a hand up to rub at her temple, and Wedge can sympathize; there's nothing like datawork to make you appreciate the parts of your career that involve getting shot at.

Back to the point, though. "How many times have you checked over it?"

Leia sighs. "I see where you're going. Four times. But I keep catching more problems--"

"So put it down for a little while and clear your head. Take the edge off."

Leia arches an eyebrow. "With you."

Wedge shrugs. "With whoever you like. By yourself. Go out on the shooting range instead, whatever helps you relax. I'm not just trying to sneak you off to a spare bunkroom here, I really think you could use a break."

"Well, you're not wrong." Leia hesitates. "There aren't any spare bunkrooms."

"Conference room, then," Wedge says, unabashed. "Supply closet. Wherever."

It does end up being a conference room -- the advantages of rank; Leia has access to reserve almost any room on the base, and finds a free room off a less-traveled corridor to block off. ("Only for an hour," she says apologetically, and Wedge barks a laugh and says, "I see you think very highly of me.")

It's a one-time thing -- they agree on that ahead of time, the first time they've really had the presence of mind to discuss it before stumbling into it.

Of course, it's a one-time thing that's happened three times now.

 _That's beside the point_ , Wedge tells himself firmly, and shuts the conference room door behind them.

It's not the most comfortable place they could have chosen, maybe, but the chairs are soft and sturdy, and at least it's well-heated. Wedge strips off his shirt as soon as he's sure the door is locked, turns to pull Leia into his arms and kisses her, one hand finding its way to the fastening of her jumpsuit and then inside, to rest on the warm skin at her waist.

He keeps the pace slow at first, teasing, biting and mouthing at the side of her throat and feeling her heartbeat quicken, one arm around her waist as his other hand slowly picks up speed between her legs. When she comes, gasping against his shoulder, her knees buckle and he tightens his hold on her waist, holding her steady against him; he stays there for a moment, lets her catch her breath, and then turns to guide her into the closest chair, drops to his knees in front of her.

When they've finished, Wedge gets up and dresses, fusses with his hair until it's as neat as he can get without a mirror. "Do you want to leave first?" he offers -- it's a low-traffic part of the base, there's _probably_ no one passing by, but better not to risk it, really.

"No, you go ahead." Leia's already settling back into one of the conference chairs, turning her attention back to her datapad. "I'm going to get this done and--"

A yawn interrupts her, and Wedge grins. "You're going to take a nap," he teases.

"Well… maybe." She smiles. "But I'll get my datawork sorted out, too. I think I can face it now."

"Amazing what a little break can do." Wedge puts on his very best earnest manner. "And I want you to know I'm here for you. I care _deeply_ about the state of your datawork. So if you ever feel you need another break--"

"Get out of here," Leia says, laughing, and shoves him toward the door.

* * *

By the time Wedge gets planetside, the party's already in full swing, the ground team and the Ewoks having somehow put together a band, a buffet, and a _well_ -stocked bar in what can't have been more than an hour. He throws himself into the celebration the second he touches down, glad, for once, to have a victory party that's not bittersweet, a victory that seems like it'll stick.

He's half-drunk already, in the middle of a rowdy knot of fellow pilots, when Leia joins them. Half the group descends on her, pressing drinks into her hands or asking for a dance; Wedge hangs back a little, lets her make the rounds, and by the time he cuts in on her dancing with one of the young pilots, she's pink-cheeked and laughing.

He's expecting a dance, maybe a toast, and then she'll be on her way to the next group around the bonfire. He's not expecting her to throw her arms around his neck and kiss his cheek, but he goes with it, wraps her up in his arms and lets himself be led into a slow dance, slower than the beat of the music.

He's _really_ not expecting her to lean in again a moment later and whisper, lips brushing the pulse point beneath his ear, "Want to get out of here?"

"Uh," he says, and then, "I thought--"

"Wedge, we've won. We did it." She grins at him -- that secret smile again, the one that's not for the holocams, not for the politicians, just for a handful of friends -- and shifts her grip to his hand, takes a step backward. "Don't you want to celebrate?"

He'd follow her anywhere for that smile. He goes along without a second thought, lets her tow him through the party and across the Ewok village and doesn't worry for a moment about who might be watching them leave together or what they might think.

It's been a long time, or it _feels_ like it's been a long time. But they know each other so well now, fit together so easily -- it feels natural to come back together, natural to slide together into the bed, to pull Leia down on top of him and kiss her until they're both gasping for breath.

Wedge falls asleep naked, Leia still on top of him, warm and relaxed and completely at ease. When he wakes, it's to the sound of Leia moving around the room -- it's still dark, and she's making, probably, more noise than she means to as she sorts her clothes from his and gets dressed.

"Let me guess," he says, voice still thick with sleep. In the dark, Leia's mostly just a silhouette, but he can see her jump when he speaks up. "Urgent political business."

She laughs, quietly, and takes a step closer to the bed. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Really?" He's still a little buzzed, maybe, from that deceptively sweet drink the Ewoks kept passing; otherwise he'd respect the not-quite-spoken agreement between them, that they don't talk about this. Instead he plunges on, "But what about our tradition?"

"Tradition?"

"Yeah." Wedge reaches out toward her, doesn't quite manage to catch her hand, brushing his fingertips lightly over her knuckles. "The one where we have a little talk before you go, and agree this is a one-time thing, and it won't happen again, and as far as anyone else is concerned it didn't happen this time either."

Leia's shadow goes still. After a moment, she says, "If I've treated you badly--"

"Hey, if I didn't like the way you treat me, I wouldn't be here." Wedge grins, reaches out for her again and this time manages to catch her hand. "And I _like_ the way you treat me."

She pulls her hand away and swats at him, but her voice is warm. "Trouble."

"I just don't see why all the secrecy. I think we're pretty clear it's not 'just this once' anymore, so why not admit it?" He hesitates a second, knowing he ought to stop there, but once again impulse wins out. "Is it personal?"

Maybe it was a mistake to have this conversation in the dark; he'd like to be able to see her expression in response to that. On the other hand, maybe he'd rather not know.

"I don't think it is," he continues, when she doesn't answer immediately. "I can't think of anything I could have done that would mean you didn't want to be linked with me romantically, but didn't mind being publicly friends. You're choosier with your friends than that. So maybe it's being seen with a subordinate officer -- you know, some kind of fraternization thing, setting an example. Or, I thought it might be because of Han--"

"Oh no," Leia says, seemingly alarmed.

Wedge manages to keep a straight face and continues, "Or Luke, maybe--"

"Oh _no_ ," Leia says again, and covers her face with her hands. She doesn't laugh, at least not audibly, but Wedge can see her shoulders shaking. After a moment she says, her voice still strained with stifled laughter, "I can't explain right now, but that is _definitely_ not it."

"Well, I didn't really think so," he admits with a laugh. "I did think you were sorting something out with Han, though."

"And keeping you on the line while I did it?" She gives him a sharp look. "Not very fair to you."

Wedge shrugs, grinning. "Hey, I'm not really playing in your league--" leaving out that he's not convinced Han is, either-- "I'm just happy to be here."

Leia laughs again, musses his hair as she stands back up. "Well, you're not exactly wrong. Han and I might come back to each other, someday. But now isn't the right time for it."

"Fair enough." He tilts his head, watching her as she finishes dressing -- there's enough light coming into the room now that he can see the look on her face, the sheerness of the fabric as she pulls a tunic over her head. "Is it the right time for this?"

She pauses, the tunic still half over her face. "Wedge--"

"I'm not trying to pin you down. I just want to keep doing this."

She shucks the tunic off again and sits back down on the edge of the bed, resting one hand on his hip. "That's what I like about you," she says, and runs her hand up his side, across his bare chest. "I know there aren't any strings. No complications, no disappearing acts, no arguments about where we go from here." She smiles at him. "You don't want anything from me."

Wedge props himself up on his elbows. "Now, that's underestimating your appeal," he says mildly. "Of course I want _something_ from you."

He slings one arm around her waist, tugs a little, and she comes readily along with him, brings one hand up to rest on his bare chest and lets him kiss her. When he pulls away again, it's to say, "Only what you want to give me. _Anything_ you want to give me."

"Let's make this more of an anytime thing," Leia says, her breath warm against his cheek, and Wedge grins and turns his head to kiss her again.


End file.
